


When the Dawn Breaks

by ArgentSleeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: Merlin will do anything to make the screaming in his head stop.  Anything at all.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 199





	When the Dawn Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Please see profile for notes.

For the first time since he’d met him, Merlin was truly grateful to Arthur.

“Liquid Fortitude,” Gaius called this potion. “Prat Juice,” Merlin called it. Because really, he was pretty sure the sole reason they kept it in stock was in case they were attacked _again_ , and Arthur got himself injured _again_ , and yet still insisted on staying at the frontlines of the battle like a complete and total clotpole… _again._

Maybe it was unfair to say he’d never been grateful to Arthur. But Merlin was quite certain he’d never been grateful to him for about anything of this nature.

Waiting for Gaius to clear out of his workroom so he could filch the bottle had been the hardest part of the plan so far. After all, there were only so many times he could have “just forgot something in my room!” or “had a few moments, so I thought I’d see if you needed anything.” Short of causing some kind of medical emergency –which Merlin really did _not_ want to do; he wasn’t _that_ desperate (honestly)– he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it in between his normal running around for Arthur. Especially since today, at least, it seemed Gaius was quite content to just putter about his workbench, brewing up potions and antidotes and who knew what else.

Finally Merlin gave up and decided to wait until his mentor went to sleep for the night. It wasn’t like he’d _never_ snuck around the place while Gaius slept on his cot before, completely unaware to the goings on in the rest of the room. Finding the potion in the dark, well, that was a trifle more difficult, but the moment it was in his hand Merlin immediately fled back to his room, closing the door softly behind him.

Merlin held the bottle in the palm of his trembling hand. Arthur loved this stuff. It made him feel like he could fight forever, when only moments before taking it he’d have been ready to fall to the ground and never get up. Gaius had to warn him time and time again it was only for use in desperate circumstances, when he had to keep going no matter what. If he could get in so much as a five minute rest, he wasn’t to try to use it.

Merlin was in desperate circumstances.

He’d held out, he really had. He’d done everything he could. But the end of the line was coming, and if he let go, he was in for a long drop with a sudden stop.

* * *

They had started a couple weeks ago. Well, no, if he was being honest they had started when he was just a child, but his most recent troubles, _these_ had started (16 days, 11 hours, and 21 minutes ago. 22 minutes ago. 23 minutes ago) after that terrible day. The one that was bur– etched into his memory forever.

He’d begged Arthur to stop it. He’d never begged harder for anything in his life. But it hadn’t done any good, and Arthur had told him every time before he even started it wasn’t going to do any good. And maybe in the end Arthur had been right. Maybe Merlin’s pleas really had done more harm than good. Because Uther found out about them. And he wasn’t happy.

It was all Arthur could do to stop Uther from throwing Merlin in with the rest of them. Luckily for Merlin, Arthur’s begging skills were much better than his own.

Unluckily for Merlin, they weren’t quite good enough.

So he’d been there. As punishment for his sympathetic views he’d been made to watch, and he would never forget it, not as long as he lived.

There had been eight of them. Five were men, but there was also a woman and her two children. The children had been too sick to run when the camp was attacked, and she would not leave them. So they’d been caught, them and their protectors. Arthur had not been there that day. Merlin was glad. It had become hard enough to look Arthur in the eye these days already.

He’d never seen a mass pyre before. It turned out size didn’t matter. It didn’t burn any faster. It provided relief no quicker. It didn’t make the screams any less unbearable.

And Merlin could do nothing. Had been forbidden from interceding by Gaius, who had been out of his mind with fear Uther would simply toss him over the rail of the balcony onto the pyre while it burned. He couldn’t even close his eyes. He felt he owed them that much. He could not save them, but he could let them know someone still stood with them.

The men had done their best to try to hoist the children as high as their bound hands could manage. They knew they could not save them, not entirely. They only meant to ensure they suffocated from the smoke, instead of having a chance to feel the flames. He’d seen the marks around the children’s necks when they came out, black and blue and horribly, terribly hand-shaped. Merlin had heard from a distraught Arthur that they’d had to separate the children into different cells: the adults had attempted to strangle them.

It was time for Merlin to do his part. Perhaps he could not spare this people any more than Arthur could have. But he could finish what those men could not. Turning away slightly so that none could see, he allowed his eyes to briefly glow gold. The flames of the pyre began to grow higher and hotter. The smoke grew thicker, creating a haze throughout the courtyard. With another small glow, he condensed the haze, so that it hovered only over the pyre. It was still agonizingly long before the heads of all who stood there began to droop, before their screams were heard no more.

Arthur allowed him to flee. He didn’t ask where he’d gone, nor berate him for not returning until nightfall. When Merlin helped him prepare for the night, he didn’t try to draw him into conversation, just gave him a list of duties for the morrow and let him go.

Merlin didn’t sleep that night.

He couldn’t. Visions of the pyre danced in his head, and the screaming rang in his ears. No one could possibly sleep over all that screaming.

In the morning, he took Arthur his breakfast and woke him, once again going about his routine in silence. Arthur gave him a few concerned looks but didn’t press it. He reminded him of what he needed to do for the day (which included cleaning up bits of broken chair from over by the wall) and left him to it. Merlin went about his chores in a haze, throwing himself into each task with every fibre of his being. By the time night came around and Arthur –who was starting to become less tolerant and more annoyed by the new silent Merlin– ordered him away for the night, he was exhausted.

Sleep came easily. But it did not stay easily.

Merlin woke to Gaius standing over him, face streaked with alarm. “Merlin, are you alright?”

Merlin did not reply for a moment. He wasn’t sure he could quite breathe yet. Finally he nodded. “What happened? Why’d you wake me up?”

“Merlin… my boy, you were _screaming_. I was worried you were going to wake the entire castle.”

It took another ten minutes to convince Gaius that he was quite alright; it was just a nightmare, nothing serious. He was fine. He’d be out like a light again if Gaius would just leave him alone.

Merlin sat on his bed, back against the wall, knees pressed against his chest, for the rest of the night. He did not go back to sleep.

For the next two nights he had done that, simply sitting in his room through the night, listening to the screams in his head. He’d had to start talking to Arthur again. Once he’d done that and flashed a few of his signature smiles, Arthur had been quite content to leave him be about the whole thing.

But eventually he’d had to go back to sleep.

Once again his dreams were filled with flames and children and screaming. They would cry for his help, and he would be frozen to the spot. He would be forced to watch as Arthur laughed merrily while they burned. And it wouldn’t be until Gaius stood over him, wrenching his shoulders back and forth, that he would realize that half the screams he was hearing were his own.

Gaius had refused to leave him alone that night, making him move out to the cot normally reserved for patients out in the main room. Merlin been forced to lie there the rest of the night, feigning sleep that would never come. It had been harder to stay awake that way, though. His body was exhausted and so was his mind, even if he was determined to deny it rest.

He made it through another two days before he’d been forced to give in.

This time he’d planned ahead, though. He’d known he wouldn’t make through the night. His entire body had been shaking all day. He’d had to excuse himself from attending Arthur for the night, claiming he didn’t feel well. Merlin knew if he got that close, Arthur would be able to see the barely concealed tremors. He wasn’t _that_ stupid. Arthur let him go, telling him he really did look awful and to get some rest; he couldn’t have people thinking he was running his manservant into the ground just because he was too much of an idiot to take care of himself.

Merlin heaved the rucksack over his shoulder. There was so much less in it than he normally carried, only a light blanket and a change of shirt just in case, but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. _He_ felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. His feet dragged as he forced one in front of the other, and how he managed to get out of the castle without being noticed, he would never be able to tell in a million years.

He didn’t go far. He was sure he didn’t have to. No one would be out here. When his body decided to give up and collapse upon the ground, he decided this place was as good as any. He didn’t bother to pull out the blanket he’d brought. Instead he dragged the sack underneath his head and knew no more.

There was no one to tear him from his nightmares tonight. He’d known that would be one of the consequences, but he couldn’t make Gaius worry about him any more than he already did. His mentor didn’t deserve that. So tonight when he was no longer rooted to the spot but running to help, the pyre somehow growing further away with every step, there was no one to stop it from happening.

He spent the next few days like that, stealing away to the woods as soon as Gaius fell asleep every other night to scream his terrors to an uncaring sky. After the third time, however, he knew he couldn’t do it again.

This time, they had all been there. Everyone who knew and everyone who didn’t. His mother, Will, Lancelot, Gaius, Freya. Gwen and Morgana and Arthur. The little druid children. Every man, woman, and child from his village. And they were being engulfed in a ring of fire.

And it was because of him.

“For the crime of harbouring a sorcerer, you have all been sentenced to death!” Uther had decreed.

But not Merlin. Merlin had been made to watch.

“This is what your magic has done, boy. You have been plagued by fire, and so they must die by fire.”

Merlin’s screams could have woken the dead. But fortunately or unfortunately, not even they were close enough to hear.

That was the night that had brought him to this, stealing dangerous potions from Gaius’s stores. But it had been four nights since his last _very_ interrupted rest. Four nights, and Merlin was afraid he couldn’t make it another one.

_One more. One more and maybe then it will be gone. It has to go away_. _It has to_.

Merlin’s hands were practically convulsing as he raised the bottle to his lips. He only took a sip. He had to make this last. It wasn’t like Gaius gave this stuff out every day. He would notice if too much was gone. But the sip was enough, at least for now. Merlin could feel himself relax the slightest bit as the energy coursed through his veins. Then he went to go sit in the corner of his room, in what he had judged as the most uncomfortable spot, curled up in a little ball, and rocked himself back and forth until morning.

By the time the sun had risen, over half the bottle was gone. Merlin hadn’t meant to do it. He could have sworn he was going to ration it better than that. But it kept wearing off so fast. Making a decision, he downed the rest of it, praying it would hold him off for the rest of the day. He’d come up with some way to get more. Perhaps there was some kind of replication spell in his book. Or better yet, a spell for keeping himself awake period. He felt silly he hadn’t thought to look there first before resorting to consuming a dangerous drug, but it wasn’t like he was exactly thinking straight.

Before he left to wake Arthur, he slipped over to the potion rack. Another bottle made its way into his pocket.

_Just in case._

* * *

“Arthur, we need to talk.”

Arthur gave an inward groan as he heard the voice from behind him and steeled himself as he turned around. Those words were never good. “What now, Morgana?”

Morgana simply crossed her arms, ignoring his tone. “There’s something wrong with Merlin.”

Oh that. Arthur knew _that_. What, exactly, he had no clue, but if there was anything normal about the way his manservant was acting, he would eat his chainmail. But for the sake of his pride, he wasn’t about to let Morgana and Guinevere know that he had no idea _what_ was wrong. “And what exactly do you want me to do?”

“You have to fix it, of course!” she snapped. “What have you done to him to make act so… _not Merlin?_ ”

“What makes you think it’s my fault?” Arthur cried, although he knew it probably was. It usually had something to do with him. Why, Merlin had gone into a sulk just the other month because he threw _water_ over him. But he knew what Morgana meant by “not Merlin.” Merlin often got twitchy. Whenever there was danger, but Merlin didn’t want to admit he was scared –something which Arthur also would never admit, but he admired just a bit– the boy became increasingly tense and would jump out of his skin at the slightest provocation. This was a bit different than that. Arthur wouldn’t call him twitchy this time but… _flinch_ y. Like he thought the very shadows were coming to get him.

“Just talk to him, Arthur. You do it, or I will.” She swept away imperiously, Guinevere in her wake.

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what kind of threat that was. Honestly, he would _prefer_ Morgana talk to Merlin. She was a woman; she would be much better at this whole… _feelings_ thing.

Merlin had woken him up that morning with his usual grin, bantering with him a bit before slipping out the door to do his chores. Arthur hadn’t really noticed anything different from the past few days, but then, the past few days had been anything but normal. Perhaps he was a bit more _animated_ , but that wasn’t a bad thing, surely? Arthur wasn’t really sure where Merlin was supposed to be at the moment. Unless he had something specific for the servant to do, he usually just handed out a list and trusted him to get it done. Probably poorly, but it would get done. Merlin was oddly reliable that way.

Finally Arthur tracked his manservant down in the armoury, where he remembered he’d sent him to polish his chainmail for an upcoming tournament. The door was slightly ajar, and a voice drifted out. Arthur immediately recognized it as Merlin’s, and the boy sounded strangely panicked. Perplexed and hoping he might mention what was going on with him, the prince leaned closer to listen.

“No, you can’t be here right now!” A pause. “Because it’s too dangerous! If Arthur finds you, he’ll kill you!”

Wait, what? Who was he talking to? Who could Merlin possibly be _afraid_ that Arthur was going to kill? Surely he knew by now Arthur only harmed those who were a danger.

Arthur peered carefully into the gap, but he could see no one else in the room with the servant. Merlin himself appeared to simply be staring at a suit of armour hanging off an old training dummy, whispering furiously at it, wringing his hands anxiously.

“I promise, I’ll come see you. But you have to go. Please, before someone comes!”

Then Merlin was moving for the door. Quickly Arthur slipped away and into a shadowed alcove. Merlin’s head popped out, and he glanced back and forth down the now empty corridor. Then he ducked back into the room.

“Come on. I’ll help you sneak back out.”

When Merlin appeared again, his hand looked like it was supposed to be wrapped around another, slightly stretched out, like he was dragging another person down the corridor.

Arthur watched in horror. _Merlin’s gone insane._

Arthur couldn’t let Morgana talk to him. She’d panic, and so would Guinevere. He would have to handle this on his own.

Or maybe not quite on his own.

He ran to Gaius’s chambers, only to find them empty, a note on the table. “ _Merlin, Gone to deliver medicines in the lower town. Don’t wait up for me. Make sure to eat some supper and get some rest. Gaius._”

Arthur noted the last part was underlined three times. Well, at least he and the ladies hadn’t been the only ones to notice Merlin’s strange behaviour. But did Gaius know how far gone his ward really was?

When night came and Merlin didn’t bring him his evening meal, Arthur began to worry. He sent another servant, not fetch him his food (he wasn’t sure he could eat anyway), but to fetch him his manservant and still Merlin didn’t appear. It wasn’t until it was time for him to prepare for bed that Merlin slipped in the door. And by slipped, the proper word was stumbled and practically fell flat on his face.

Arthur had to work hard to stop himself from confronting Merlin right away. If Merlin really was having hallucinations, then the prince’s normal brusque manner was probably not the way to go about things. He didn’t have Merlin help him change, slightly afraid to have the mad boy touch him, instead making an excuse that he wanted him to stoke up the fire for the night instead.

Arthur had turned away after he said it, or he might have noticed.

* * *

Merlin had always been afraid of fire. Ever since he was a little boy and he learned that the punishment for having magic like he did was death, he had been terrified of every way that that death could come about. It was why he constantly wore his neckerchief, like he could somehow tether his head to his shoulders against the blow of an axe. It was why his most skilled tricks were with flames. He had worked hard, trying to bend them to his will, to turn them from beacons of death to ones of hope.

It had been years before he would go near the fireplace in his own home. His mother had been forced to tend it. He had spent those years racked with guilt over how she was affected by his fear, but nothing could bring him closer. By the time he had left for Camelot, things had been better. He could start fires, and he knew he could stop them. He had even managed to hold flame in his hand. He would never like fire, but he had learned to control it.

But Merlin’s control at the moment was tenuous at best. 

He crept up to the fireplace like it was a raging beast. And in his mind, it _was_ a raging beast. He hadn’t made it to midday before downing the entirety of his second pilfered bottle in one go, and then only an hour later he’d gone and gotten another two and drank them as well, double-fisting them, not even caring if Gaius spotted him, then tucking another in his pocket for later. Manufactured adrenaline was coursing through him, and he wasn’t even sure he could feel his heart racing anymore.

The potions had increased the hallucinations. Before they had been only mild annoyances that crept at the edges of his vision, just _there_ enough to make him strain not to turn and acknowledge them. Now they stood right in front of him, mocking him. He’d even given in to them for a moment that afternoon, when Freya had appeared before him in the armoury. The vision of her nearly had him out of the castle before he remembered. That had been just before he went for even more potions.

He was certain the trembling in his hands had definitely turned into full-on convulsions by now, but he was still safe. Arthur was keeping him at a distance, far from a chance at discovery. But maybe safe wasn’t right. Arthur wanted him to go near the fire.

He wanted him in the fire. Arthur wanted him to die.

_No. Stop. You’re being ridiculous. That’s the hallucinations talking._

Merlin forced himself to take another step closer to the flame monster. It was reaching out towards him now, trying to draw him into its fiery depths.

_No, it’s not. It’s just a fireplace. It’s not going to hurt you_.

He grabbed hold of the poker and took another step. It was calling to him now, and the voices were the voices of children.

_Don’t listen. Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’tlistendon’tlisten!_

But then the faces appeared, and suddenly the children were emerging from the flames, grabbing hold of them and dragging him in. They were still screaming, and amidst their screams came the voices, mingling and growing, the ones he had heard for real in his head that day, the ones no one but him could hear, the ones he was doomed to hear forever more.

_“Why, Emrys? Why didn’t you save us, Emrys?”_

* * *

Arthur stood behind the screen, not changing, just thinking. What on earth was he going to do? Should he tell his father? But what would he say? _“Oh, by the way, Father, my manservant has lost his mind?_ ” Uther wasn’t heartless. Arthur knew a lot of people thought so, but he wasn’t. He would let Arthur help Merlin, so long as it served no risk to Arthur himself.

But risk or not, Merlin was one Arthur was willing to take.

When the screams started, Arthur ran out from behind the screen, not entirely sure what he was expecting. It certainly wasn’t the sight that awaited him. Merlin cowered underneath the table, waving the poker wildly about in front of him like a sword. Arthur ran to him, dropping down beside him and trying to avoid being hit.

“Merlin! Merlin, what happened?”

“Arthur, what’s going on? We heard screaming.”

“I don’t know, Morgana! Just stay back! He’s having some kind of fit.”

Morgana, of course, did not stay back. She knelt by Arthur, taking in the sight before her. Merlin stared blankly through them, fighting the demons only he could see, still screaming incoherently. His face was gaunt and pale, huge dark circles ringing his eyes. His entire body was quaking. “Merlin? Merlin, it’s alright. It’s me. You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“You’re wasting your breath, Morgana,” Arthur snapped. He knew it was the fear making him lash out, but he didn’t have time to care right now. “I don’t think he can hear you.”

Morgana scowled at him. “Then we need to make him hear us.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

She kept talking, reaching her arm out to gently grasp the poker, working her hand along it until she touched Merlin, wrapping her fingers carefully around his wrist. She used her other hand to wrench the poker free, quickly handing it to Arthur, who tossed it aside like it might bite him. Morgana then eased herself under the table next to Merlin.

He had stopped screaming when she touched him, but kept babbling, the stream of words too low and quick for her to make any of them out. Very gently Morgana wrapped her arms around him, drawing Merlin close, ignoring the sweat that poured off him. Arthur could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest even from the other side of the table. Slowly, so as not to startle him, he crept forward and pressed two fingers to the inside of Merlin’s wrist like Gaius had once taught him. It was like a dying hummingbird lived there, faintly, furiously flapping its wings, trying to escape from under his skin.

“I sent Gwen for Gaius when we heard the shouting,” Morgana told Arthur softly, rocking Merlin back and forth. He didn’t try to pull away, didn’t even seem to notice she was there, just kept mumbling under his breath.

“He’s not there,” Arthur replied, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from the sight in front him. “I checked earlier. Morgana…” he paused, not sure if he should tell her. Then he sighed. No point in hiding anything now, not with Merlin having a complete breakdown in her arms. “Earlier today he was talking to someone… someone who… _wasn’t there_.”

Morgana frowned deeper and returned to making soothing sounds, which Merlin ignored. She rubbed her hands up and down his arms. They were freezing, despite how much he was sweating. “Arthur,” she whispered, “help me move him closer to the fire. We need to warm him up.”

At first Merlin was perfectly willing to be moved, so long as Morgana kept her voice low and gentle, assuring him that everything was okay. But then he seemed to notice where they were taking him, and he went berserk.

Morgana was hurled away as Merlin ran, flinging himself out the doorway and down the corridor. Arthur spared Morgana a glance to make certain she was alright –she was already bounding back to her feet– before lunging after him. Merlin made immediately for the door, but the complexity of opening the latch seemed to be too much for him at the moment. With Arthur closing in on him, he sprinted in the other direction, disappearing behind the bed.

He was trying to scramble underneath it when Arthur caught up to him. Arthur gripped his ankle, meaning to drag him back out, but the instant his fingers closed around him, Merlin shrieked, causing Arthur to immediately let go, terrified he had somehow hurt him.

Merlin crawled to the back of the bed, forcing Arthur to grab a candle from the nightstand so that he could still see him in the dark. His mumbling was getting louder now but was as quick as his breathing, so that Arthur wasn’t even sure how he was doing both at the same time. His eyes had rolled up into the back of his head, and Arthur was starting to worry –and hope– that he was simply going to pass out.

Arthur reached towards him again, but Merlin shrank back, looking like he was going to try to escape from the other side of the bed. Arthur decided to set down the candle and try for another grab and ignore the screams this time, but Merlin seemed to anticipate his action, bolting out in the other direction. Luckily Morgana was waiting for him, tackling him when he emerged and pinning him to the wall.

The force of hitting his head there seemed to daze him a bit. The flow of gibberish slowed, though his breathing did not, and he began to scrabble at his clothes, producing a small bottle of reddish-orange liquid. Arthur lunged for it, snatching it from the boy’s hands before he could raise it to his mouth.

“Merlin, what is this?” He didn’t receive an answer, and he hadn’t really expected one. But wait, he _knew_ this potion… He knelt down by where Morgana held the boy, back to his quivering, sobbing state. “Merlin, listen to me, how many of these have you had? This is important, Merlin, now _answer me. How many have you taken?_ ”

“Arthur, stop it, he can’t–”

“We don’t have time to be delicate!” Despite his words, he did his best to lower his voice to what he hoped was a more soothing cadence. “I need you to answer the question, Merlin. How many?”

Merlin didn’t answer. Or perhaps he did, but his muttering hadn’t become any clearer. Continuing to question Merlin would get them nowhere for the moment. Arthur wanted to shake him, even as he felt a flood of relief. His servant wasn’t mad, at least not in the way he’d feared. There were certainly some questions to be had regarding his sanity, but not ones that would end with him locked up in a tower for the rest of his days.

“What is that stuff?” Morgana asked,

“It’s… imagine how you feel right now, putting that in a bottle.” That was how Gaius how explained it to him, when he had warned Arthur about why he couldn’t just take it whenever he felt a bit worn out and needed a boost. “From the way Merlin is right now he’s had…” Arthur fished in the servant’s pockets, horrified to discover two more phials, both empty. _Damn it all, Merlin…_ There was no telling if there were more he just didn’t have on him.

“But, but _why_?”

“I told you, _I don’t know_ …”

Gaius rushed into the room, trailed by Gwen. “I’m sorry; I came as quickly as I could. What happened?”

Arthur and Morgana explained the mad dash about the room, the suspected hallucinations, the bottles of potion they’d found in his clothes, all while Gaius examined Merlin, who cowered into Morgana’s side. The physician sent Gwen running to his chambers for the things he hadn’t even thought to grab in the rush across the castle.

“Get him onto the bed.” Together Arthur and Morgana lifted the quaking body, gently laying him on top of the bed he had tried so hard to hide underneath. Merlin refused to let go of Arthur afterwards, so he sat next to him. “Arthur, I need you to massage his neck, right there in that spot. We need to slow his heart rate. Right now he’s courting a heart attack.”

Arthur did as he was told, though his hands were shaking at this news. _Merlin, what have you done to yourself?_ Merlin flinched as Arthur went to move his neckerchief out of the way, but Morgana kept talking to him softly, reassuring him.

Guinevere returned with Gaius’s supplies. Gaius immediately dunked a cloth in the cold water she’d brought and draped it around the back of Merlin’s neck. “Take some more of these and wrap him in them. Make sure you get his wrists and his armpits. I need some light to check his pupils. Gwen, hand me that candle?”

“NO!” Merlin screamed suddenly, trying to rip himself from Arthur’s arms. Arthur tightened his grip, doing his best to subdue the flailing servant. Morgana bit down on a squeak as Merlin managed to grab at one of her wrists before Arthur could pin in back to his side. The next moment Merlin went blissfully limp, finally unconscious. He was so still Arthur panicked for a moment that he might have died, but the continued pounding under his fingers confirmed Merlin’s heartbeat on. Morgana looked down at her own hand in horror, backing away.

Arthur was too preoccupied to reassure her. Anyway, she had to know there was no way that she could have _made_ him pass out, right? “Gaius, what the hell was he thinking? He’s your apprentice; he can’t possibly have been ignorant of the risks he was taking.”

“I’m sorry, sire, but I don’t know for certain. I can only tell you what I suspect.”

“Then tell us that!” Arthur knew he was bordering on begging, but at this point he honestly could bring himself to care, not when Merlin was looking nearly dead in his arms.

“Last week, Merlin started having nightmares. I’ve had to wake him several times when he started to get too distressed. They seemed to stop, but I could tell he still wasn’t sleeping well. I think… I’m afraid Merlin potentially hasn’t slept at all these past few nights. The side effects of doing so are such as you have described, including the possible visions. If he hadn’t been sleeping well in the time before this started, he may have been taking the potion in an attempt to keep himself awake longer. And there’s no telling how long before today he’s been taking it without anyone noticing.”

“But why would he do that?” Arthur felt like tearing his hair out. A nightmare. Merlin was killing himself over a _dream_. He’d known his manservant was an idiot, but really, this took the cake.

“Gaius,” Morgana whispered. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Are Merlin’s nightmares… are they anything like… _my_ nightmares?”

Arthur reached for her hand. She flinched a bit at his touch before allowing him to take it. Of course, he was being insensitive _again_. Morgana had been plagued by nightmares for years; she would understand the terrors that they brought.

“No, my lady,” Gaius replied gently. “Merlin’s, I fear, are of a slightly different nature.”

“What can we do to help him?” Arthur was willing to do anything, _anything_ , so long as he never had to witness that again.

“For now, the only thing we _can_ do is get him to rest. And ensure that _these_ ” he indicated the bottles of potion with a look of utter revulsion “are as far away from him as possible.”

“Merlin can stay here for the night.” Arthur ignored Gaius’s quirked eyebrow and Morgana’s small knowing smirk. “Moving him all the way back to his room might wake him.”

Gaius checked his ward’s pulse again, grateful to find it much stronger and slower than before. “I could give him something to induce a deeper sleep for the journey back, but I would prefer that the rest he gets is natural. If you think you’ll be okay looking after him, we’ll take him back to his room tomorrow when he wakes up. I’ll leave this with you just in case he doesn’t make it through the night, but let us hope it isn’t needed.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur assured him. “You should get to bed. You need sleep of your own, too, if we’re going to figure this out tomorrow.”

The small crowd reluctantly filed out, Gwen dousing the fire that Merlin had been so frightened of as she left. Arthur carefully removed each item of Merlin’s water and sweat soaked clothing, tossing them on the floor with a soft splat. “You can deal with that tomorrow, as part of your punishment for putting me through this.” Merlin made no response, but Arthur continued anyway as he went to fetch a change of sleep clothes from the armoire. “That’s right, don’t think you’re getting off easy. You’re going to spend the next few _years_ working off your debt for tonight.”

Merlin didn’t so much as twitch as Arthur worked around him. He wished he could call for a bath, but the servants would talk, and then his father might find out. Whatever Merlin had done, he didn’t deserve Uther’s wrath. So instead Arthur simply rubbed him down gently with a cloth and the bucket of cold water, drying him and then dressing him for bed. He tucked Merlin in, then went to dress himself for the night before crawling in next to him.

Arthur cupped Merlin’s neck, breathing a sigh of relief to find his pulse had slowed significantly, sleep doing its job of healing his body. He left his hand there, needing the peace of mind from that came from touch.

What kind of nightmares could have driven the poor boy to go to such lengths to keep himself awake? Morgana’s dreams were terrible sometimes, yes, but as far as Arthur knew she had never considered not sleeping. In fact, she had gone to the other extreme, taking draughts to induce deeper and deeper states of unconsciousness, even though they never seemed to work. Could that be why Merlin had chosen the opposite approach? Having seen the failure of her attempts, had he decided to try something new?

It was no use speculating. They wouldn’t know anything until they could question Merlin, and they couldn’t question him until he woke up.

Somehow Arthur must have drifted off to sleep. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but next thing he knew he was waking up to a hand slapping him in the face. Merlin was fidgeting beside him, not nearly as hard as earlier, but enough that it was clear his sleep was no longer undisturbed. Gaius had said he’d had to wake Merlin before when he had gotten too distressed. But then, he’d also said Merlin needed as much rest as possible. How was he supposed to rest if Arthur had to wake him up?

But then how was he supposed to rest if he was terrified every time he closed his eyes?

Arthur brought his hand up to stroke Merlin’s hair. “Shh, it’s okay, Merlin. I’m here; you’re safe.”

Instantly Merlin’s eyes snapped open, swirling molten gold. Before Arthur could stop him, Merlin bolted upright with a scream. Without a word, the fireplace burst into flame. Merlin scrambled backwards in the bed panting, eyes which were once more blue wide and panicked.

Arthur snaked a hand out to grip his wrist tightly, preventing further flight. “Merlin, calm down. It’s just me, just Arthur! Shh, calm down; you’re all right!”

Merlin continued to take heavy breaths, his eyes darting frantically around the room before landing on him, but he seemed to be in no danger this time of running off. Arthur kept up his soothing mantra, channelling back to the days when Morgana would sneak into his chambers after waking from one of her own nightmares, back before she had Gwen to comfort her.

The doors to his chambers burst open, and Gwen herself rushed in. “What happened? Morgana told me to sleep in the room next door, and I heard screaming.” She looked in confusion between Merlin and the fireplace she herself had put out, but Arthur jumped in before she could say anything more.

“I’m sorry; it was my fault. I didn’t want him to get cold. I thought it’d be okay since he was asleep, but I must have woken him.”

Both of them stared at Arthur incredulously. If he weren’t so concerned with getting Gwen out of the room he might have been offended by the insinuation that he could light a simple fire.

Then Gwen softened. “Would you like me to put it back out, Merlin?” she asked kindly. She smiled at him as though he were a young child spending his first night away from home. “I could sit with you a while if you like until you fall asleep.”

Merlin twitched his lips upward gratefully, though an embarrassed blush stained his face all the way down his neck at her tone as he realized where he was. “I’m fine; thanks, Gwen. You should go back to sleep. Both of you.” He made to slide off of the bed, but Arthur stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You have to sleep, too. Gaius’s orders. You need rest, Merlin.”

His eyes widened, scandalized. “But... But Uther–”

“Won’t find you here, I promise. Now lie back down, and don’t even think about trying to leave this room again. Those are _my_ orders.” Merlin obeyed reluctantly, allowing Arthur to push him back onto the pillows. “He’s right, though, Gwen; you should go back to sleep. I’ll make sure he actually does as he’s told.”

Gwen curtseyed. “Yes, sire.” She gave Merlin another concerned smile and extinguished the fire again before returning to wherever it was Morgana had bade her sleep.

Merlin turned his gaze on Arthur, and as he adjusted to the now dim light he could make out the fear that still hid there. It was clear he was expecting Arthur to say something. Arthur wondered how much of him expected that something to be a death sentence. It should be. That was the price for doing magic in Camelot. But looking at him now, trembling in Arthur's bed, the only thing Arthur could see in Merlin’s once gold eyes was the man he had grown to care about in these few short years.

“If I get you some water to take Gaius’s potion with, do you promise not still be here when I get back to the bed?”

* * *

Merlin nodded and watched as Arthur walked over to the far side of the room where a pitcher of water was kept on hand. What was the point? If he ran, he would have to _run_. There was no other choice now. And to think, all this time and he was caught not because an act of bravery, but because of his cowardice. Because he was too scared of being killed himself to save his own kind from the flames.

He had no idea what was going through Arthur’s mind now. Was this act with the water to lull him into a false sense of security? Was the potion something to drug him to sleep so Arthur could carry him to the dungeons without a fuss? Merlin wouldn’t take it. If he was going to go to his doom, he didn’t deserve to go in even the illusion of comfort.

Oh, but he was so _tired._ His adrenaline from being startled awake was wearing off quickly. That would not do. Spotting his clothes on the floor (and he blushed to realise he was now wearing Arthur’s) he leaned over and reached into his pockets.

They were empty.

Frantically he patted them down, desperately trying to deny what his fingers were telling him. No, they had to be there. He had put them there; he knew he had.

“They’re gone. Gaius took them.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped back up to where Arthur stood in front of him. His face was not filled with pity, which might have destroyed him, but confusion and a strong dose of anger.

“What were you thinking, Merlin? You could have killed yourself, did you know that? Gaius was afraid your heart might stop. What could you have possibly been seeing in your dreams that would be so bad you would feel the need to do that to yourself?”

Merlin considered not answering. For all of eight seconds, he considered not answering. Then he let out a sigh. This was Arthur. Perhaps at another time he might be able to get around it. Sometimes it was almost like part of Arthur _wanted_ to be lied to. But this was the other part of him, the part that was tired of the deceptions that seemed to be ingrained into the fabric of his life. Tonight he would stand for nothing but the truth.

But that didn’t mean Merlin couldn’t try to stall a little longer.

“How did I get here?”

Arthur cross his arms tightly over his chest, scowling down at him. “Gaius said it was best not to move you after you had a complete mental breakdown in my chambers earlier, so here you are. He said it was because of those potions you were taking because you were trying not to sleep because you were having nightmares. What were the nightmares about, Merlin?”

“I…” Merlin picked nervously at the hem of the coverlet, then, deciding it was probably not a good idea to provoke Arthur by destroying his belongs, curled his hands into tight fists. In a breath barely loud enough to be heard, he whispered, “I keep _seeing_ them. _Hearing_ them.”

Some of the tension leaked out of Arthur, and he sat on the bed beside him. A callused hand wrapped around Merlin’s own, thumb sweeping gently over the skin. Merlin stared at it in shock. “Who, Merlin? Who do you keep seeing?”

Then it was pouring out. Merlin couldn’t seem to stop himself as he admitted how the druids cried out to him in his mind, pleading him to stop their pain. The more he talked the more the images started to appear before his eyes again, the voices clamouring around his skull, begging for his attention. He was afraid if he did, however, if he gave in to them for just one moment, he might slip, and who knew he could stop himself at a minor flareup next time.

“Merlin,” Arthur said forcefully, though not unkindly, drawing him out of his mind again. “Merlin, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it -no, don’t give me that look. My father was ready to throw you in the cells just for speaking up for them; if you’d tried to step in there wouldn’t have been anything I could do to stop him from killing you along with them.”

Merlin didn’t have anything to say to that, because yes, he did know all that. He knew it, had known it, but it didn’t help. 

“You shouldn’t have had to watch. Damn it, we both know it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. One day, when I’m… one day it won’t happen again. Not to them, and not to you. Not ever to you. I promise you that, Merlin. But until then… you have to be careful and take care of yourself.” Arthur cupped a hand around his neck and leaned in, foreheads touching. “I can’t lose you. Please don’t do this to me again.”

“I- I won’t,” Merlin promised, breathing harshly, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes. He closed his eyes against the sting, and for the first time in days he saw only darkness behind his lids. He let out a sob, and Arthur wrapped his arms around him tightly, holding him as he tried and failed to regain control.

Only once he had cried himself out did Arthur pull him down into a supine position on the bed, keeping him close under the covers. He kissed Merlin gently on the forehead. “Try to get some now sleep, Merlin. And if you can’t… I’ll always be here for you. Always.”


End file.
